The Look-Alike Bride (Crimson Romance)

Avon, Massachusetts

This edition published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

www.crimsonromance.com

Copyright © 2013 by Kathryn E. King

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 10: 1-4405-7475-8

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7475-7

eISBN 10: 1-4405-7476-6

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7476-4

Cover art © istock.com/MichaelBlackburn

To

Mrs. Octavia Taylor

Physical Education Teacher and Coach

at

Camden High School

Camden, Arkansas

and

Brenda Clark Gilcrease

My High School “Twin”

When Leonie Daniel first realized someone was stalking her on her regular afternoon jog through a Houston park, she tried to ignore the figure slinking in her wake behind the shrubbery. After half an hour, she found the whole thing annoying.

“Stop following me,” she ordered. “I have enough problems today without adding you.”

Despite the lectures she gave herself, Leonie’s heart melted when the stalker halted and gazed wistfully at her with hungry brown eyes.

“Go on.” She stamped her running shoe on the cinder path for emphasis. “Believe me, you don’t want my big sister after you. If you hook up with me, you’re a target.”

She didn’t need another problem today, especially a problem with the long, pointed nose of a collie whose fur coat looked like the poor creature had stuck its paw into an electric socket.

“Oh, all right.” She melted under his longing gaze. “I’ll buy you a hamburger. Then it’s off to home with you. Do you hear that?”

The dog’s ragged tail waved slowly.

Leonie turned and jogged toward the park entrance, followed at a respectful distance by the mat of orange-and-white fur, to a hamburger stand just outside the wide, stone gateway. She didn’t even question how the dog knew who, of all the joggers in the park that day, would give into his silent plea. She was an easy touch and dogs spotted her instantly.

She placed the order for one hamburger, plain, and a cup of water, no ice, conscious of the hopeful brown gaze fixed worshipfully on her from behind some forsythia bushes.

In a secluded nook amid a group of white-studded baby’s breath bushes, Leonie unwrapped the hamburger, muttering to herself about wet-noodle spines. While she was a wimp when it came to dogs, she did still cherish hopes of standing up to her big sister.

“Look. Let’s make a deal.” She laid the unwrapped burger on the grass and pushed it forward. “Just because I happen to be between jobs, my sister thinks I can drop everything and come running to help her out.”

The dog gulped down the burger in two bites, then wolfed down the bun.

“It isn’t that I don’t love her and want to help her,” Leonie went on. “But how am I supposed to have a life of my own if I have to keep pretending I’m Zara?”

The dog licked the napkin in hopes of finding an escaped morsel and waved his ratty tail.

“More to the point, how am I ever going to meet somebody special if every man I date falls for Zara the minute he sees her?” She shrugged. “Not that I blame Zara. She doesn’t flirt with them. It’s just that she’s so gorgeous and outgoing, men can’t help themselves.”

The collie sniffed the napkin again then fixed his hopeful brown gaze on Leonie’s face once more.

“Take Roddy Hillister, for instance. I really thought we were an item until Zara visited last month. We were
lovers
, for Pete’s sake.”

The dog’s tail waved twice.

“He hasn’t called me since, except to ask for Zara’s phone number—he likes me, but the minute he met Zara, he said he knew he’d met his soul mate.”

The dog made a whining sound in his throat. Leonie took it for sympathy and offered the cup of water.

“I’ve got to cut the family ties, or I’ll never meet somebody who will like me more than he likes Zara.”

The dog’s long, pink tongue lapped water until the cup was almost empty, and Leonie gave in. She had never in her life managed to resist rescuing an animal in trouble.

“So, what do you say we team up? I can use a fellow like you around the apartment. If I have a dog to take care of, she can’t expect me to go running off and leave you.”

The animal licked his chops and looked hopefully at her. Leonie looked back equally excited. Maybe Zara would think twice about separating a woman from her dog.

“So. Do we have a deal?”

The dog wagged his tail.

“Do you mind a name that implies toughness, a little hostility, and a lot of protective attitude?”

The tail wagged again.

“In that case, let’s get a move on, Butch.” Leonie stood. “We’ve got things to do.”

Suckered again
, Leonie thought. Why did she even try?

She didn’t know why she tried to evade her sister’s requests. Probably it had something to do with her desire to assert her independence—for all the good it did. Leonie always resisted, and she always wound up doing what Zara wanted in the end. No doubt, her spinelessness had something to do with younger-sister syndrome.

That was why she stood in the big open living room of Zara’s lakeside cabin amid a batch of suitcases carried in for her by two nondescript government agents, dressed as airport shuttle drivers. Then they saluted her as if she were some kind of important official, and swiftly left.

Her current job: Pretend to be Zara.

She had done it before, but never for longer than a few hours. However, this particular job involved a hefty paycheck, which Leonie admitted she needed, and one month of impersonating her sister in an area where no one knew Zara, except by sight. She had been assured the job was perfectly safe, merely a precaution in the unlikely case hostile entities checked on Zara’s whereabouts.

“All I can say is, this had better be as safe as they promised,” she grumbled.

Leonie studied the suitcases, interested in spite of knowing she’d probably be heartily bored within a week. Experience told her she wouldn’t care for most of the clothing inside. Zara’s taste in almost everything was totally different from hers. Still, she’d have fun being a secret agent who looked like a Barbie doll for a month.

“I’m a pushover,” she told the scruffy collie at her side. “That’s all there is to it. A marshmallow-filled pushover.”

Butch shoved his long muzzle into her palm.

“A broke pushover, too, which is the only reason I’m doing this.” She brooded a moment. “You’d think I’d know better by now. Roddy Hillister should have taught me a lesson.”

For a moment, Leonie toyed with the thought that this might be the perfect opportunity to have a vacation romance. She had always dreamed of a lover who would be hers for a lifetime, but sometimes a woman had to take what she could get. Maybe she could use playing Zara for a month to her advantage and make one of the many men always chasing her sister happy.

“Then Zara can deal with the repercussions,” she told the collie. “That would teach her.”

The collie’s tail waved gently, as if in commiseration. He had spent the previous evening visiting the vet and the groomer and had metamorphosed from a matted ball of fur into a recognizable collie despite his moth-eaten appearance.

The vet surmised the dog was about two years old and healthy, although severely neglected. He thought Butch had survived on his own by foraging through garbage cans until Leonie acquired him. Even though a groomer had spent three hours trying to untangle the dog’s coat, Butch still resembled a ragged orange-and-white blanket.

“It’s too bad I don’t have a job already lined up.” She scratched gently behind the dog’s ears. “You may have to get a night job guarding warehouses to support us when this is over.” Leonie bent to pick up one of the suitcases. “We may as well get unpacked. We have a
vacation
to enjoy, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

An entire month. Leonie couldn’t get over it. Zara, who was an agent for an unnamed branch of the U.S. Government, showed no compunction about interrupting Leonie’s quiet life as a high school health and physical education teacher and demanding that she serve her country.

“If I had wanted to serve my country,” Leonie grumbled, glaring into the suitcase open on the bed, “I’d have joined the army. Just look at this stuff. I’ll look like a bimbo.”

She held up a silver party dress that would fit like a second skin. It was so short, Leonie wondered why anyone bothered to call it a dress. Leonie would hide in the restroom all evening if she dared to wear what looked to her like a silver camisole in public, but Zara would be a knockout in it.

Nonetheless, that was what Zara—and the United States—wanted Leonie to do. Her job for the next month or so was to visit every place Zara would if she was vacationing at an Arkansas lakeside cabin, and knock all observers’ eyes out.

Leonie smiled. She might as well enjoy this to the fullest. When she returned to teaching, perhaps she’d have memories of this once-in-a-lifetime vacation that would last her for years.

“Not that anybody who really knows her would believe for one minute that I’m Zara,” she told Butch as she hung the silver camisole in the closet. “Only Zara can carry off looking like a movie star and have a great time doing it.”

She assessed herself in the dresser mirror. Zara looked back at her.

Inside of one day, Leonie’s ash-blond hair was lightened to a spectacular silver blonde, her eyebrows reduced to a thin, well-brushed line, and her skin, from head to toe, artificially tanned with an expensive lotion. Leonie’s blue eyes were actually a shade or two darker than Zara’s, but people rarely noticed that small difference amidst all the glamour Zara, or Leonie dressed as Zara, projected.

The two sisters looked so much alike, anyone would have thought they were twins, although Leonie was actually two years younger. Zara was brassy and outgoing, the sister who had her shoulder-length, ash-blond hair dyed platinum, and dressed like a movie star. Leonie, on the other hand, preferred to practice her baseball swing or kick a soccer ball around while wearing loose-fitting, sturdy jeans and T-shirts she picked for their serviceability.

Even during childhood, everything Zara did was perfect, unlike Leonie who was a walking disaster: her science project got eaten by her new puppy; and her first bra underwent an elastic collapse when she was walking down the aisle to the family pew at church.

Zara was a cheerleader and was elected homecoming queen. She graduated near the top of her class though she rarely opened a book. Leonie, however, felt lucky to graduate and had to work for all her grades. She excelled in sports and track and was well liked, but nobody considered her popular. Even the boys Leonie dated really longed to date Zara.

Once Leonie tried getting a tan and bleaching her hair, only to find everyone mistook her for Zara. Moreover, she discovered she didn’t like the attention she attracted. She lacked her sister’s gift for repartee and was incapable of turning a man down without hurting his feelings forever. Thus, after two days, Leonie returned her hair to its original color and deep-sixed her contract with the tanning salon. Not even moving to Houston had helped because Zara visited regularly and met most of Leonie’s dates.